


Shared Toys

by SinNotAlone



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Choking, Collars, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, M/M, Sharing, Slapping, Stockings, Submissive Hux, assisted oral sex, protocol, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: Kylo Ren invites a few officers of the First Order over to enjoy the services of Armitage Hux. The urge to write Kylux into a cliche BDSM fantasy would leave not me alone. This porn is the result.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I’ve posted since I change my username. I was formerly Kitanai/Kegareta.
> 
> Thank you to [cracktheglasses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen) for the support.

“How’s that?” Kylo asks, trying to worm a fingertip between the stiff leather of the collar and the delicate skin at the front of Hux’s neck. He manages to fit it up to the first knuckle before the rough corner of a nail gouges Hux. The slight sizzle of pain is a promise.

“A little tight,” Hux says. Kylo heaves a lopsided shrug with his unoccupied arm and, after one final push, removes the digit. Hux wants to remind him that checking the tightness of the collar is a safety precaution, not an opportunity for injury, but he keeps his thought to himself. Tonight isn’t the night for him to voice his criticism.

Hux has had innumerable opportunities to back out of this. It’s been weeks since the idea was first put forth, on that momentous night. He’d been strung slack, a liminal state—after the contractions of his release had subsided but before the chill of reality had set back in. It was during that warm haze that he had nodded his head, consenting to the suggestion, when Kylo had repeated those words often blurted during the heat of the moment but never afterward acknowledged.

That was not the only time Hux assented. Two days hence, Kylo had broached the subject once more. This time at the beginning rather than the end of their encounter. Hux, with all his faculties about him, found that his desire had not flagged but had rather intensified. Each subsequent discussion had led to the elaboration of plans, with no attempt made to stem the budding idea. Hux knew that he was entering dangerous territory. _What if they were outed?_ Kylo assured him this would not be a problem.

The collar chafes his skin as Kylo rotates it to the proper orientation, buckle in back, ring in front. It’s broad enough that it digs in a little, under his chin, a silent reminder to check his movement. Each time he swallows, each time he inhales, the reminder grows. He’ll undoubtedly have a lingering ligature mark to commemorate the occasion.

Kylo tugs on the ring, causing Hux to teeter off balance. He catches himself and Kylo steps back, rocks back onto his heels. His hands plant on his hips. His head nods slowly, repeatedly, like he’s silently agreeing with his internal monologue. The weight of Kylo’s gaze is palpable on Hux’s skin. His eyes drop from the black leather to trail over Hux’s pale pink nipples. They are chapped darker at the tips, evidence of recent rough treatment. The dry, recycled air of the ship shrinks them so they stand, pebbled against his flat chest. Kylo’s eyes skim the expanse of Hux’s abdomen, slim yet soft in a way that is so unlike Kylo’s firm musculature. It’s softness always yields under Kylo’s fingers, fingers that dig hard to leave easy bruises like paint splatters across his alabaster skin. He wears them now, little smears of yellow fading faint on his hips. Kylo’s eyes find their final destination, landing on Hux’s downy thighs. Here his skin is nearly luminous above the opaque stockings, white light on the horizon of a black lake.

The very last of Kylo’s consecutive nods has a decided gravity to it, cementing his assessment. He lifts his forefinger and flicks it in a circular motion, accenting the single word, _turn_. Hux steps swiftly around himself to present his other side.

“Show me,” Kylo requests.

Hux cants his hips backward, forcing his ass out and up.

“You can do better than that. I know you can.” Tedium wears in Kylo’s tone.

Hux’s unsure fingers creep across the breadth of his ass, and the pad of each dimples into meager padding. He pries his cheeks apart, showing Kylo just how well he can do. With his hole exposed, his skin prickles at the sensation of being completely open yet plugged full. It feels colder than when it went in and nearly as uncomfortable.

“Good choice,” Kylo says. The warmth of his hand is welcome, as it cups Hux’s balls, weighing and stroking, lulling him to distraction. When the other hand taps the plug, Hux jolts. “Not the smallest, but you knew better than the bite off more than you could chew.”

Kylo had left Hux take care of his own prep. Hux knows by now what Kylo expects, and he knows for a fact that his own standards are higher than Kylo’s. They both appreciate the way the dark stockings give his long legs an endless appearance, but it is Hux who will never abide a run or twisted seam, at least not to start out with.

The plug was the only logical choice. This isn’t a punishment, and Hux isn’t stupid. He chose one big enough to do the job, but not so large that he would be incapable of thinking of anything expect his fullness. It had taken Hux little time to work it in, make sure everything was as it should be.

Everything except the collar. Only Kylo has the right to touch that.

Kylo digs his fingertips into the skin that stretches around the little silver base of the plug. His fingers are blunt, big, each one nearly double Hux’s in girth, but they aren’t clumsy. They’re deft as they grasp the slight protrusion and twist. Kylo’s movement is slow and long, dragging against his rim, shifting the plug inside of him. Hux has enough lubricant in him that it should be an easy slide, but the controlled pace makes him clench. It burns, and a shudder of discomfort starts at his tailbone and runs up his spine, to expel from his body in a hoarse groan.

Hux can feel Kylo draw closer; his hot breath whispers against the back of his neck. The short hairs stand at attention, waiting for Kylo to speak. With voice pitched deep, he asks, “What would happen if we didn’t keep you plugged? Probably tear your little hole bloody if we didn’t keep it stretched.”

Kylo presses his clothed chest against Hux’s naked back, bearing down on him. Hux’s arms strain under the added weight, but he doesn’t let go; he hasn’t been told to. One of Kylo’s hands is still trailing over and around the plug. His hole pulses in response, tensing as Kylo adjusts the metal, then relaxing when he retreats, ghosting fingertips over the edge of his stretched entrance.

“Gonna wear it all night aren’t you? Just to make sure.” The vibration of Kylo’s voice works its way inside Hux. The words barely register, but Kylo need not use words to convey his sentiment, his filthy baritone is enough. Hux nods, and the collar bites into the soft flesh beneath his chin. He can feel Kylo’s lips against his nape, curving into a self-satisfied smirk.

Another emphatic tap ends Kylo’s inspection of the plug. He squeezes Hux’s hands, and Hux takes the hint to finally let go. His back shrieks and pops as he straightens, and Kylo draws away, circles Hux to face him.

“What else will you do tonight?” Kylo steeples his fingers against his chin and waits. Hux gets the impression that there is only one correct answer Kylo will accept. A dozen possible responses flood his mind. Do as he’s told. Take what he’s given. Those are but outward symbols of a fundamental concept.

“Know my place.”

The hand that reaches to cup Hux’s face is remarkably fond, the calloused pad of one finger tracing his cheekbone. Though his tone is not quite tender as he asks, “And where is that?”

“Beneath yours.”

Kylo’s dark eyes soften, the corners crinkling. He looks as if he might do something overtly sentimental. Instead he loops his finger through the collar’s ring and gives a sharp tug. “It’s nearly time.”

Kylo walks ahead of Hux to the sitting room. His ribbed leggings and sleeveless tunic display the power of his form, with no robes or cowl to veil his broad deltoids. Hux follows. Under normal circumstances, he would admire the view, but now each step takes him closer to a maelstrom of anxiety. It’s been building for weeks and only now hits Hux full-force. This isn’t a fantasy any longer.

Kylo stops to sprawl in a low, Corellian leather chair. He spreads his legs wide, providing Hux with ample space to kneel between them. Hux knows what to do. He lowers himself to his knees with the grace of a supplicant commencing a practiced ritual. Bracketed by Kylo’s strong thighs, Hux feels at ease. He glances back to check the other man’s expression. Kylo’s look sours, and Hux feels fingers nip at the base of his skull.

“Eyes straight ahead,” Kylo says, reorienting Hux to face front.

Hux blurts, “Sorry—”

Before he can make his excuse, Kylo cuts him off, “I don’t want to hear your voice unless I ask for it, and if I do, you better be quick.”

Hux closes his mouth and drops his head. He rests his hands on stocking-clad legs, and the sweat of his palms seeps through the delicate material. His fingers fidget, drumming lightly against his thighs. He is already starting to feel a dull ache running from ankles to knees.  

A tinny buzz indicates the arrival of their company.

The door slides open to reveal two men. Each stands with the upright posture that belongs solely to those of military stock.

“Good evening,” Kylo says, and the men approach.

A feeling of faintness washes over Hux. His peripheral vision blurs. He hasn’t moved, but his body reacts like he’s running for his life. The rush of blood is deafening in his ears. Sweat collects on his upper lip, in the creases of his thighs, to dry icy on his skin. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, a tightness grows between his legs. He keeps his sight trained ahead, doesn’t make eye contact with the men. His gaze is unfocused, nearly unseeing.

“Major Odern, Lieutenant Kerult, take a seat.” The couch that the men approach is only a few feet from where Kylo sits. The sitting area may be commodious for personal quarters aboard a star destroyer, but there is not nearly enough space to put Hux at ease. A cocktail table separates the furniture, too low to preserve any of Hux’s modesty.

“I trust you’re well.”

“Yes. Yes very well,” one of the men says. Hux flicks his eyes upward, just long enough to recognize the man speaking. He knows him to be Odern. His face is not easy to forget, the left side marred by raised scar tissue, though from the right angle, he is handsome enough. His olive skin has the sallow tone that all men who live their lives off-world develop, but his body is solid, nearly stocky.  

The man sitting next to him, Kerult, is familiar to Hux, if only for his strikingly fair features. Kerult’s lower rank means that Hux has little to do with him and his work for the First Order. However, much like Hux’s ginger complexion marks the man as a rare curiosity, so Kerult’s paleness does for him. His hair is the same color as his ashen skin, eyebrows and eyelashes nearly translucent.

How Kylo selected these men, Hux does not know. Perhaps he searched for those who already showed the necessary proclivities. Perhaps he selected those amenable to persuasion. Hux wonders if they will be allowed to keep their memories of this encounter. His stomach churns at the thought of addressing a room full of officers and seeing the knowing look on Odern’s face.

“Armitage, why don’t you get the men something to drink.”

It takes a moment to register that Kylo is addressing him; Hux is called by his first name so infrequently. He tries for grace as he stands, stabilizing his abdominal muscles to support a fluid rise. The rush of blood to his lower extremities brings with it an attack of tingling nerves. He stumbles then stands still, waiting for it to pass. Frozen, he can feel the eyes of all three men assessing and appreciating, and by instinct alone, his hand moves to shield his flushed cock.

The sound of the slap echoes in the room before the pain has time to register. As the smart blooms on his ass, Kylo growls, “Hands down.” Hux drops them, barely aware that they had moved in the first place. “Do it again, and I’ll have you over my knee.” Hux nods. The heaviness between his legs grows stronger, and he starts to fill out.

It’s a few short steps to the sideboard, where a crystal decanter waits. Hux takes two glasses and fills them with the rich amber liquid. Its subtle scent of spice and oak can only be that of Corellian Reserve. Though he lacks precise instructions, Hux decides that two fingers will suffice.

Behind him Hux can hear the men chatting, an odd practice considering Kylo is typically anything but loquacious. The conversation is banal, a retrospective of Kerult’s recent shore leave and the fine Twi’lek he’d managed to bed.

The airy glasses fit comfortably in Hux hands, and he turns to deposit them on the low table. A tremor runs through him as he faces the group, and he stops briefly to steal a deep breath. He’s thankful that the beverage poses no risk of spillage; anything requiring fine dexterity is beyond Hux’s current state. The first glass he sets in front of Kerult, but Kylo interrupts him before he can place the second. “Bend at the waist, not the knees. Give the men what they came for.”

Hux pitches forward with the second glass in his outstretched hand. The men are seated apart from each other, at either end of the couch, and the table is short enough that Hux knows he must be presenting a lewd profile as he bends. He locks his knees and feels the stretch in his hamstrings, straining to put on a proper show. 

Kylo comments, “Damn pretty, isn’t he? You don’t see a boy like that every day.”

With the glass carefully deposited, Hux straightens. His hands now empty, he fists his fingers, lets his nails bite brilliant into his palms. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Odern staring with open hunger, written in the way his tongue flicks forth to wets his lips. Hux awaits Kylo’s next command, but it doesn’t come.

“Without the uniform, there’s not much to him. Just a slim little thing.” Kylo places a possessive hand on the back of Hux’s thigh and turns him, front to Kylo, back to Odern. Kylo continues, “He’s still a bit bruised, but it suits him. His skin’s made for it. Pinks up quick and keeps his stripes.” Hux knows it takes at least a week for his bruises to fade from blue-black to that jaundiced yellow, and if it was a particularly brutal session, the shadow can linger for weeks, broken blood vessels leaving their tracks under translucent skin. He didn’t check his marks today, but it’s been only five days since Kylo last took to him.

“Don’t you think so?” This time Kylo waits, eyes sharply focused in Odern’s direction. His aquiline nose and tawny eyes give him the appearance of a bird of prey, shrewdly observing. Hux can see the challenge posed in his quirked brow, the anticipation reflected in his dilated pupils.

After a moment of hesitation, Odern catches on. “His skin’s awful nice.”

Kylo encourages, “It’s soft. See for yourself.” A searing heat rushes from scalp to toes. Hux is fully hard now, and with his head dropped, all he can see is his cock bobbing above the edge of his stockings. With Kylo’s next comment his cock swells so full it aches, a dull throb set to the beat of his pulse.

“Look how red he’s getting. He can hardly stand it.”

Odern’s fingers run from the edge of the stockings to the swell of Hux’s ass. It’s a gentle stroke, one for delicate little things. His fingers are rough, stubby. The hardened skin drags against him, igniting trails of exhilaration as Odern explores his fading bruises.

Kylo’s hand is still wrapped around Hux’s thigh, though the heat of his palm is dampened by the stockings. The hand slides up and down the smooth material, a repeated motion that draws Hux toward placidity. Hux’s attention ricochets between the familiar weight of Kylo’s hand and Odern’s foreign touch. Kylo’s loose grip tightens once Odern has had a chance to appreciate each mark. Kylo guides and Hux follows. The pressure on his right thigh encourages Hux to turn to face the table. His shins knock into the transparisteel top, and Kylo says, “Go ahead, kneel down.”

Hux is relieved to sink to his knees. He channels his energy into stilling thighs that want to shake, shudder, and slide out from under him. Kylo’s hand rests on his back, encouraging him to lay his chest across the table top. Hux lets it bear his weight and pillows his head on his forearms. His cock is trapped against his stomach, and between the heat of his belly and the cool transparisteel, it’s too much. He closes his eyes and squirms his hips, intent in his search for friction, but the smooth table top provides no relief.

Kylo skims his way from the small of Hux’s back to the cleft of his ass. He delves between his cheeks to finger the plug. Then, with no preamble, he pulls it from Hux’s hole. Hux can feel himself gape, his hole spasming around nothing but air. When Kylo’s finger brushes the rim, Hux’s face flames. He sucks at the inside of his cheeks, runs the tip of his tongue over his teeth. The distraction doesn’t prepare him for the next question.

“Looks well used. You keep him plugged often?” Odern asks.

Kylo says, “Most rest periods. Helps his attitude. He’s less likely to mouth off if he’s got something to keep him occupied. And I wouldn’t want him forgetting what that hole’s for.”

Within the confines of his head, Hux is screaming, but all that passes his lips is a murmur of a whine. It’s not much more than a low note carried on his exhalation. He wants to interject. To say it’s too much, this baring of his tender belly to near strangers. At the same time, his cock pulses while he continues his pointless rutting against the table. The tip of his tongue is near raw, and he captures if between his teeth when Kylo encourages Odern, “Why don’t you try putting it back in?”

Odern places a steadying hand on the small of his back. Hux freezes. His hips still. His breath stops. His mouth leaks a trickle of blood that collects in the gully beneath his tongue. While Odern ministers to Hux, Kylo continues the earlier conversation with Kerult. They talk of which brothels provide the prettiest wares and note those that don’t mind if you return their stock in less than mint condition. 

The push of the plug is torturously slow. Odern breaches him, little by little, but before he reaches the widest part, he pulls back out to start again. Hux attempts to force himself onto it, but Odern loosens his grip and doesn’t allow Hux to meet the push. Hux admits defeat. He lies limp against the table, which has grown slick with the evidence of his arousal. All he can do is curl his toes as Odern applies pressure once more. It’s slow, millimeter by millimeter, with Odern’s heavy palm weighing him down. His hole flutters around the widening bulb. He tries to release a steady breath and relax completely. Despite the absurdity of the situation, he celebrates a minor victory as his body sucks the plug the rest of the way in.

Now that Hux is properly plugged, Kylo returns his attention. “That feel better, being filled up again?”

Hux doesn’t respond. It isn’t out of insolence but rather incapability. His rapid pant has dried his throat to the point where swallowing is difficult and speaking seems unthinkable. Kylo’s fingers fist the hair at the back of his head. He pulls and draws Hux up off the table. Hux goes with no resistance, eager to relieve the pain in his scalp. His eyes water, but more from the shame of disappointment than from discomfort. The first tears burn as they collect. He curses his body for divining its own punishment. Even he cannot smother every physical reaction.

The tears blur his vision, and when Kylo bends down to look him in the eyes, Hux averts his to the floor.

Kylo’s other hand recoils then cracks across the hollow of his cheek. Hux sucks a sharp breath in through his nose. He expected no less, not after Kylo’s earlier warning. He should be thankful. It’s not the hardest Kylo can hit by far. Hux knows Kylo will never risk injuring his face, he’s said as much, not that fine bone structure, that milky complexion.

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer. We’ve already established this.” Kylo speaks slowly, barbs sharp on each enunciated consonant.

Hux’s throat works in an attempt to swallow. It’s like choking down sand, and the first attempt at an answer devolves into a litany of coughs. “Yea... Yes,” Hux gasps out. His tongue is a clumsy weight, his lips inert.

Kylo releases his grip, seemingly willing to content himself with Hux’s monosyllabic response. He reclines back in his chair to look down at Hux from on high. He snaps his fingers and points toward the slickness left by Hux’s leaking cock, catching his attention like an errant animal.

“Look at the mess you’ve made with your slimy little cock. Clean it up. Don’t want these men to think you’re a slattern in addition to a slut,” Kylo lectures. The words bring a chill to everywhere in Hux’s body but his swollen cock.

Kylo applies his booted foot to Hux’s back, nudging him in the right direction. The rough tread walks along Hux’s spinal column, forcing him forward. When Hux is flush against the table, the foot settles to rest on his shoulder. The limb doesn’t pin him, but it does provide incentive to complete his task in a timely fashion. Hux’s mind returns to his waiting audience, and he wonders whether lust or disdain reigns on their faces. Some of both likely, if Kylo chose wisely. 

With a tentative tongue, he prods the surface of the table. The slick has gone cool, coagulated into a sticky smear. It won’t be easy to clean. He sucks his tongue, forcing his mouth to water. His cheeks hollow and he lets let the saliva pool before rolls his tongue through it. Once it’s coated he starts to lap at his mess. With his face pressed so close, there is no way to avoid his nose dragging along the table, and it grows moist and cool. The rough of his tongue scrubs the surface clean, and soon all he can taste is the industrial subtlety of transparisteel.

Hux cranes his neck back, his chest still pressed to the table. Kylo lets the boot slip from its perch, and Hux moves to sit back on his heels. He looks up to see Kerult’s face etched with faint dismay, but Odern’s is rapacious. His thick lips are parted and his chest rises and falls at a frenzied pace. His one good eye shines coal black, nearly unblinking. From Hux’s lower vantage point, his gaze is oriented at Odern’s meaty palm. It grinds with a syncopated motion, surely chafing against the stiff fiber of the First Order uniform.

Dark amusement colors Kylo’s voice as he says, “Looks like Major Odern could use your help. A good host doesn’t deny his guests. Go on, show him what you’re good for.”

Hux knew this moment was coming. This is what they’d agreed upon. Still, his heart races, threatens to crawl up and out of his chest. He scuttles forward, the rough industrial carpet snagging the knees of his stocking, and positions himself at Odern’s feet. His ankles protest at the continued pressure, but he will not rise until his job is done. He shifts his weight from side to side, stalling, unaware of the proper protocol for this situation. His hands fold primly in his lap, right thumbnail slicing into left wrist.

Odern takes the lead and lifts his hips high enough to shuck his pants around his knees. Hux leans in to admire his cock. It’s stout, though not overly long, with a definite purplish hue to the dusky tip. He captures the head in his mouth and swirls his tongue, tasting musk and salt and skin that is in no way that of his lover’s. Kylo’s cock is long but not quite so thick; Odern’s head is plump enough to fill his mouth.

Hux hears a creak and the tread of feet behind him. He feels hands wrap around either side of his jaw, cupping his cheeks. Kylo’s middle fingers dip into the corners of his mouth, stretching his lips wider. Kylo applies a firm pressure, encouraging Hux to take Odern all the way to the back of his throat. He tries to keep his mouth supple around the thick length as it’s fed deeper and deeper. Kylo pushes until Hux’s nose is buried in Odern’s wiry black hair. Hux spasms as the head hits his soft pallet. His previously dry mouth floods with saliva. It creeps from the corners and drips down to make a mess of Hux’s chin.

Hux sputters when Kylo pulls him back off, but the respite is too brief to fill his lungs completely, and the tight collar makes it seem like no breath is ever deep enough. Kylo is pushing him back down again, drawing him up with fingers that dig like fishhooks into the meat of his sunken cheeks. Kylo sets a steady rhythm, and Hux relaxes his neck, becoming fluid, allowing himself to be led. After the proper calibration Hux learns the intended pace, but when Kylo removes his hands, he stutters at the sudden lack of assistance. In making himself amenable to Kylo’s guidance, he’d lost his faculty to move independently.

Kylo spurs him on. “Don’t slack off just because I’m not holding your hand. You don’t want these men to think that I haven’t trained you properly, do you?”

Hux shakes his head as best he can with a mouth full of cock. Kylo’s hands return. His nails bite into Hux’s scalp this time, fingers wind tight in Hux’s hair. His motions are rougher, more careless. Kylo keeps him down longer, forcing Odern’s cock deeper. Hux can’t hold back his gurgled chokes. His eyes leak tears. His throat is raw from gagging. His jaw feels close to being rent apart. When Kylo lets him up, Hux gasps for air, a wet whooping sound emanating from his lungs.

Kylo taunts, “Really, this the best you can do?” Hux clambers to compose himself. He doesn’t need to breath; he just needs to do his job. He swallows rapidly, evacuating the overflow of saliva. When Kylo forces his head forward, he doesn’t resist. He lets Kylo haul him down, up, quick strokes, never pulling him fully off. All Hux can do it make sure his lips stay covered while he's trapped between the press of Kylo’s hands and the thrust of Odern’s hips. Odern releases a soft groan before he snaps forward one last time, then holds firm. He pulses his release, and Kylo’s fingers loosen their hold.

The ejaculate that fills his mouth is bitter and Hux wants desperately to rid himself of it, swallow it down or spit it out. Kylo interrupts him before he can do either. “Show me.”

Kylo pulls Hux’s head back far enough that the vertebra in his neck grind and pinch, until he can see Kylo’s face looming above his. The collar digs hard into the back of his skull. Hux cups his tongue, opens his mouth, closes his throat to prevent the come from leaking down. Kylo pats his cheek, and with a sharp sucking noise, adds his own addition to the mess. The hot saliva hits half on his lips, half on his tongue. His cock twitches, untouched.

Kylo tips his chin closed, treating Hux like an invalid. “Now, you can swallow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me about kink and Kylux on [Tumblr](http://sinnotalone.tumblr.com).


End file.
